


It's All Alright

by MissNaya



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe, DCU
Genre: Alternate Ending, Daddy Kink, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Necrophilia, Small Penis, small penis humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: After defeating Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey, Roman goes off to find his bodyguard and live-in boyfriend to celebrate finally getting their hands on the Bertinelli diamond.He finds Victor, but not how he expected.(READ. THE. TAGS.)
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	It's All Alright

**Author's Note:**

> did you know corpses can get boners? well now u do. enjoy my fic

Roman knows something is wrong when his men won’t look him in the eye.

It doesn’t make any sense. They beat those bitches, painted the ground with their blood. The little thief has been dealt with. The Bertinelli diamond is finally his. Everything is going perfectly.

Until he asks, “Where’s Zsasz?”

The men nearby shuffle their feet and don’t look his way.

“Sorry, I must have missed the part where I fucking stuttered.”

“I…” one of the men says.

“Boss,” starts another, but he stops himself before he can go any further.

“You… You should come up here,” a third one says.

Eyes narrowed, Roman follows him into the Booby Trap, stepping over Montoya’s body on the way. The inside is a bloodbath; there were casualties on both sides. Roman’s only unhappy that Harley now lies dead with her eyes unfocused and her skin even paler than usual, rather than slumped over in a chair with her face detached.

You win some, you lose some.

The mook takes him to the top floor, where glass has been shattered and a few bodies lie scattered around. A few living men mill about, searching the place — and the bodies — for any valuables.

Roman frowns at the mess. “Why are we here?”

When he speaks, the men in the room all jump. Several raise their hands as if in surrender. Roman looks at each of them in turn, brow furrowed.

“What? What the fuck aren’t you telling me?” he asks. He doesn’t want to know the answer, but he asks.

Slowly, one man stands up from beside a felled couch. The man at his feet doesn’t move an inch.

But Roman recognizes that coat. He recognizes that bleached hair.

“Out,” he croaks. His voice is hoarse. When no one moves, he shouts, “Out, fucking out! All of you, _go!_ ”

They scamper off like pigeons scattering when a child barrels toward them. Roman stays there by the doorway, hands opening and closing in fists, gloves squeaking with every little movement. He doesn’t want to move. His legs feel frozen in place. There’s a rock in his chest moving steadily toward his throat, and he feels like he can taste bile.

Slowly, like he’s unfreezing after being trapped in a block of ice, his feet carry him toward the figure. He kneels down. Reaches out to touch a shoulder.

Even through his gloves and a few layers of clothes, he knows. He can feel how cold the — the _body_ is.

With a grunt, he grabs and heaves, forcing it over onto its back. Its? No, his— No, not anymore— Fuck, fuck, _Victor…_

It’s him. It really is him. Eyes half-opened and glossy with death, blood drying around his mouth and on his face, jaw slack. Scars exactly where they should be. Gold teeth shining in the low light.

Roman presses his lips together and shakes his head. He screws his eyes shut, but the image of Victor is seared into the backs of his eyelids.

“No,” he says. “No, no. No, Victor, you’re not allowed to… _No._ ”

He can’t accept this. He won’t. They have the diamond. It was supposed to be their key. Roman Sionis the small-time crime lord could never sink so low as to be with his bodyguard, and another man, at that. But Black Mask, godfather of Gotham? He could do anything he fucking wanted. Fuck who he wants. Love who he wants.

Fuck, they were so _close._

Roman doesn’t realize for a few minutes that his face is wet. He doesn’t realize anything for that stretch of time, doesn’t even want to think. He certainly doesn’t want to open his eyes and see that gaping, dead face.

Victor isn’t dead. Victor _isn’t_ dead. He can’t be. He isn’t. Roman repeats it like a mantra, because if he wants something bad enough, he gets it. He always gets it.

He pulls off his mask before he opens his eyes. It makes him feel vulnerable, naked. But it’s how Victor always sees him. If he sees him now, he’ll realize he has things to do and snap out of it. If he sees Roman cry, he’ll do something to stop it. He always does.

“...Victor,” he says, when he opens his eyes and Victor still hasn’t moved. He reaches out to cup his face. Ignores the chill it shoots up his arm. “Victor, you have to wake up. We have the diamond.”

Victor says nothing. He must be in shock.

“I know,” Roman says with a smile. “I had the bitch gutted. The rest are dead. We did it, Victor! Isn’t that fantastic?”

Victor must still be stunned, because he just stares up with those glossy eyes and open mouth. That’s okay. It’s okay.

“Speechless?” he asks. “So was I. But it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

He presses his fingers to Victor’s (bloody) lips as if to shush him. Eyes softening, he settles down, tucking himself against Victor’s side. Victor doesn’t grab his waist like he normally does when they lay like this, but it’s alright. He’s clearly tired.

“ _Boss,_ ” he thinks he hears. It’s a bit strange that Victor’s mouth doesn’t move, but he’s always been a bit strange. “ _You’re so fuckin’ wonderful. A goddamn force to be wrecked with._ ”

“Reckoned with,” Roman corrects. He sighs, cheek resting on Victor’s chest. It’s a little wet. He must be sweaty after dealing with Quinn. “You need to change.”

His hand drops down to Victor’s waist. Parting the halves of his coat, he grabs the bottom of Victor’s shirt and gives a tug, untucking it from his slacks. A little smirk blossoms on his face as he sees scars crisscross over a downy treasure trail.

“Why, Mr. _Zsasz,_ ” he says, when his eyes wander a few inches lower. “You should have told me you were so excited.”

Victor’s cock stands hard in his slacks, obvious now that Roman’s looking. Distantly, something like _priaprism_ comes to mind, but he pushes that away. Corpses don’t get hard. They can’t. So if Victor is hard, that must mean he’s alive, no matter how clammy he feels or how pale and blotchy his skin looks.

Deft fingers undo belt, button, and zipper, and he delicately untucks Victor from his boxers. He has an unimpressive cock, hardly four inches, but it’s thick when it’s hard. The thickness, that’s Roman’s favorite part.

“Must’ve gotten you riled up, slitting that crossbow bitch’s throat,” he says. “I know, Victor, I know how it gets you. Daddy will take care of it. Here…”

Glove still on, he strokes Victor nice and slowly. It doesn’t twitch in his hand like it normally does, but sometimes that happens. It happens.

He can feel his own pants getting tighter. Shifting up onto his knees, he looks down at Victor, who looks up at him with an awed, slack jaw.

“I know,” Roman says. “This suit is one of my favorites, too.”

But that doesn’t mean he wants to leave it on. Grinning mischievously, he begins an impromptu strip tease, swaying his body to music only he can hear as Victor watches him with those distant eyes. He keeps his shirt on, unbuttoned a bit, just enough to give that tantalizing view of his chest hair. He knows Victor loves that.

His pants, though, those come off entirely. His briefs follow. He doesn’t want to wait, not tonight. Not when he’s on top of the world — when _they’re_ on top of the world.

“I didn’t bring any lube,” he says. “Did you?”

Victor doesn’t answer, but that’s because the answer is obvious. Straddling Victor, Roman bops his forehead with a now-bare hand.

“Duh. Same place it always is.”

He reaches into Victor’s right coat pocket, and there it is, the little tube of travel lube they keep around for those impromptu trysts. He smiles and flicks it open, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.

“I don’t have any poppers, so you’re gonna have to keep still,” he instructs Victor. “I don’t want you tearing me, you animal. Heh… Not like you could, with that cock of yours.”

Victor loves to hear Roman insult his cock. It makes his face screw up in pleasure, like it is right now. Wide mouth, hazy eyes… He’s in bliss, Roman can tell.

Reaching back, Roman begins to finger himself open. He’s practiced at this, even if he prefers the sweet buzz of drugs in his system when he’s getting fucked. In a pinch, the high from getting the Bertinelli diamond will do.

It doesn’t take long before he’s panting and gasping over Victor’s cock. He can’t take much more. Sliding his fingers out, he uses his wet hand to slick up Victor’s length. The lube is still clammy, isn’t that just the strangest thing? But Roman works through it, stroking Victor’s cock until the heat from his palm warms it.

He looks down with half-lidded eyes as he positions himself over Victor. That face never fails to make his heart race, even after fifteen years. And now they can be together. Now, it’s all perfect.

And what better way to cap off a perfect night than with a perfect fuck?

Roman loves to be on top. He loves to be looked at. He loves the expressions Victor makes when he rides him, loves hearing the little gasps and moans and grunts. As he starts to sink down, he thinks he hears an exhale from Victor. A low, deep, groaning thing that turns him on, spurs him to sink all the way down.

It doesn’t hurt. There’s a bit of a stretch from the thickness of it, but other than that, Victor isn’t big enough to do much damage, not with Roman slick from prep. He still feels good, though, _just_ long enough to effortlessly find Roman’s prostate.

And find it he does, as Roman starts to rock his hips. He throws his head back and moans, long and low, the slick sound of their bodies slapping together filling up the room.

“Oh, Victor,” he gasps. “ _Victor._ Don’t move; just feel me. Oh, fuck.”

He slows down, less bouncing, more rotating his hips over Victor’s cock. Squeezing down around it, he feels that fat head prod at his prostate, and keeps rocking back and forth to feel it more. His cock leaks with precum, some of it dripping down onto Victor’s pale stomach.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up to his orgasm. The night is too intense, his emotions too wild, and Roman has always been a selfish lover. He spears himself on Victor’s dick, low moans turning to wild howls, the same way they always do during a particularly good fuck.

And this? This is to fucking _die_ for.

Practically shaking, Roman grabs for Victor’s wrist. Usually, he’d be jerking him off by now, but he supposes Victor is a little shy tonight, a little overwhelmed. So he guides his hand to his cock, wrapping oddly stiff fingers around his shaft. Victor must be pretty damn close, too, if his fingers are so tight like that.

It’s just what Roman needs to propel him the rest of the way to his orgasm, fucking Victor’s fist as he squeezes his muscles down around his cock. Thick strands of cum paint Victor’s stomach and shirt, dripping down over countless tally mark scars.

It takes Roman a much longer time to come down from his high. He sits there on Victor’s cock, panting. Doesn’t feel Victor softening, even as his own cock deflates in Victor’s grasp.

After a few minutes, he pulls free.

“Victor,” he chides, when Victor’s fingers stay wrapped stiffly around his cock. It takes him a second to wiggle his way out, but after he does, he collapses back next to Victor, arm across his chest. “You are just… too much.”

Victor says nothing. He’s always been the silent type. Because he’s so shy tonight, Roman lifts Victor’s arm and places it around his shoulders. He smiles and closes his eyes, once again resting his cheek on Victor’s chest. For now, he doesn’t worry about the mess. They’ll clean up tomorrow.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Tomorrow, we run this city. You and me. Forever, baby.”

He closes his eyes, and as he listens to the deafening silence coming from Victor’s chest, he can’t help but wish that tomorrow never comes.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway here's my [linktree](linktr.ee/herecomesnaya) if y'all wanna see the other shit I do


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